Bravado Fabrications
by vanatines
Summary: Yohio doesn't know how to paint, but he still had a way of conveying his feelings through canvas. —YohioLily


**Title**: a maladroit painter  
**Characters**: YOHIOloid, リリイ  
**Pairing**: YOHIOloid/リリイ  
**Notes**: Reuploaded from my old account.  
**Disclaimer**: What.

* * *

What am I doing?

Yohio thinks to himself, his hand still poising his paintbrush against the canvas, but this time, the thought is clearly amplified towards him; he has no idea what the hell he's been doing for the past hour and a half. And there she is, lithe and lovely Lily, propped against a wooden upholstered furniture, supple hands curling against each other and resting in her lap. She looks so much more beautiful today. Her beautiful head of hair has been let down, falling against her shoulders, which is an awfully pleasant change of how her hair is usually held, in a tight bun or a plain braid. Her dress is silky and looked all too good on her, with flowers and silk and vaguely transparent netting and lots and lots of frills. And her face, oh, her face is prepossessing, her face glowing and radiant, pink lips noticeable, serene blue eyes giving the best of how she looks. She worked hard on her appearance this morning, Yohio realises, just for her to be painted.

And as much as Yohio wants to capture the embodiment of beauty displayed in front of him, onto the canvas, smiling cutely, all for him to see, he can't. Yohio's talent only lies in left-brained things. He's just so useless at being creative and has absolutely no lick of imagination, yet he just wants to spend time with the beautiful woman he would die for, so he lies. Lies about he's an artist and has been painting ever since he took his first toddler breath. Lies that it's his hobby other than working. Lies that he'll paint Lily and that she won't have to pay a dime.

Yohio lets his gaze implant on Lily for more than just a few seconds. He isn't observing her. He's admiring her beauty. Lily doesn't notice and her smile stays unconditionally, a light, nervous giggle poking.

"When am I allowed to see?" She asks in that soft, beautiful voice that Yohio loves too much. The voice is careful and gentle, hypnotic and mature and it's exactly what Yohio looks for in someone's dulcet. He has a thing for beautiful voices, and he has heard many, many. But by far, Lily's is the best he's heard.

"Um," he begins tremulously, feeling his cheeks slightly heat up and he feels so stupid about being shy and awkward for no reason, "Y-you can go see it when I leave... I'm shy."

He still has no idea what he's doing, but this gives him an idea. He dips the brush into the clear water (although he hasn't even let the paintbrush touch paint), and immerses it into a little black pool of paint. Steadily, he lets his brush paint words he'd never dare to say onto the canvas. Art is about feeling, and this is exactly what he's feeling. And finally, for the period of time he's been here, he diverts himself into the activity, rapidly dipping his paint in black and painting words and words until there's barely any space on the canvas. His fingers handle the brush deftly, as if he's done this a million times, and without his knowing, a pleased smile sculpts his lips and a content shade of red adopts his cheeks.

Then, after ten minutes, he's done.

He smiles lopsidedly at Lily, making a slight bow to her. "Th-thanks for coming here... I really appreciate it," he mumbles, "See you Wednesday."

And then, Yohio drops the brush into the tin of water and slowly, hesitantly whisks himself away from the room.

He tries to watch. As he exits the room, he lingers by the windowpanes and watches Lily stare at the wall thoughtfully, not moving a muscle. And then slowly, arm by arm, leg by leg, she stands up from her stool and takes slow steps, as if savouring to see the masterpiece he'd created. And after leisured moments, she reaches the painting and looks at it. And Yohio doesn't want to see her reaction because he realises he's scared of rejection.

So he leaves briskly, realising he shouldn't have done such a stupid move. So he leaves briskly, knowing he shouldn't have done that on impulse. So he leaves briskly, not noticing the warm, happy tears that comes to Lily's eyes, the hand that touches her lips, the large, grateful and appreciated smile that comes to her lips and the way her eyes glistens. So he leaves briskly, not realising he made a woman, a woman close to his heart,

so

very

loved.


End file.
